


Stretched

by matrimus



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: M/M, Sports Therapist!Link, brief mention of internalised homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:47:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrimus/pseuds/matrimus
Summary: "So this was what a Sports Therapist looked like? Tall and slim, with quick hands and a narrow waist Rhett was willing to bet he could snap over his knee like a twig. He hadn’t exactly known what to expect, but really, the guy looked as though he weighed 140 pounds soaking wet; shouldn’t he have been some meatheaded jock with the kind of muscles only steroids could sculpt? Not some skinny, doe-eyed twink who made Rhett’s blood run warm at the very sight of him."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhinkipoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhinkipoo/gifts).



> A gift for the lovely [rhinkipoo](https://rhinkipoo.tumblr.com/). I hope you enjoy it, sweety!
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd, so any glaring errors are mine alone. The idea for this fic was inspired by the wonderful gifset that made the rounds on Tumblr a while back with Physical Therapist!Rhett. I thought Link better suited the role, and switched to sports therapy for the shameless excuse of massages in a later chapter.
> 
> Come chat to me on [Tumblr](https://matrimus.tumblr.com/)!

Rhett’s sneakers squeaked on the gleaming wooden floorboards of the dance studio, loud and sharp in the open space. The first to arrive, he lingered inconspicuously by a neatly heaped pile of yoga mats, guarded eyes immediately drawn to his own reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors lining the opposite wall. Dull pain radiated from the slope of his lower back, and Rhett cringed at the sight of his taut spine and rounded shoulders, strain evident in the familiar grimace tightening the skin around his eyes and mouth. He forced himself to straighten despite the desire to curl further in on himself like a shrimp. He may have been there for sports therapy, to learn a set routine of exercises and stretches to help reduce the aches of his body, but he understood muscular structure enough to know hunching would only make it worse.

It was Stevie who’d convinced him to seek professional help, half through concern over seeing her friend in such pain, and half eager to put an end to the constant string of grumbled complaints Rhett made whenever he was forced to do anything even remotely physical. A hike to the iconic Hollywood sign had almost ended with her shoving Rhett from the top of Mount Lee in a bid to put them both from their combined misery, though her frown had softened considerably once she’d caught a glimpse of the frustrated tears burning Rhett’s eyes. For a man who had once considered professional basketball a serious career path, who loved to camp and take long walks along the beach with his dog Barbara yapping at his heels, this slow descent into immobility was enough to leave him desperate for long-term solutions.

It was his own fault for leaving it to fester for so long, he knew. Admitting to the pain was akin to admitting defeat, something Rhett had never handled gracefully. The various men of his childhood stood as sentinels in his sepia-stained memories, their skin bronzed by the glaring southern sun and their backs strong as steel from decades of tough physical labour. Rhett may have shaken the chains of many of an engrained social constraint by now, but making his daddy proud through trials of raw strength and masculinity was one that continued to linger like a noose around his neck. Asking for help, especially with something as personal as his own body, was a difficult plunge to take.

Stevie had pulled him into a gentle hug, promising to look for a local, reliable sports therapist even as she’d scolded him for harbouring such old-fashioned views. He was a  _Californian_  man now, remember? In LA, men of all walks of life enjoyed sports massages as freely as they did mani-pedis and hot towel facials. The judgemental eyes of his past were blind to him here, the open diversity of Los Angeles both startling and wonderful. He had nothing to be ashamed of.

 _Nothing_.

Rhett sucked a slow breath through his nose, holding the cool, conditioned air in his lungs for a mental count of five. Faced with the silent dance studio, awkward and stiff in his sweatpants and a plain white tee, it was all too easy to withdraw inside himself once again. His therapist – Charles Neal, the last of the names on Stevie’s list and the only one that hadn’t sounded like a cartoon character – had explained calmly over the phone what Rhett could expect from their first meeting. An hour long, one-on-one session to assess the extent of Rhett’s mobility, allowing them to build a tailored, personalised exercise routine together. Rhett had nodded silently, his hand clammy in its vice-grip on his cell phone. The idea of having a stranger’s undivided attention, watching and  _assessing_  the cumbersome movements of his long limbs, was enough to break him out in a cold sweat. Did he really need this? He’d gotten this far just fine, reached 40 without keeling over on the spot. He could continue to do what he always did: swallow a handful of Tylenol, slap on a heat pad or two, maybe look up a few stretches online. Why pay an overpriced sadist to tie him in knots when a quick Google search could give him the answers for free?

Who the heck even was this guy? For all Rhett knew, Charles Neal could be a con man, could take Rhett’s pre-payment money and run for Vegas, could be waiting to knock him out and sell his kidneys on the black market, could be –

“Gosh, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long; I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the traffic in LA.”

Could be  _criminally_  attractive.

Rhett’s attention snapped to the door in time to see a man he could only assume was Charles Neal slip through it, his cheeks pink and ruddy as though he’d been running full pelt across the parking lot. Rhett couldn’t stop himself from giving the man a scrutinising, up-and-down  _look_ , taking in the stylish sweep of dark hair peppered with silver, the lopsided yet confident smile, the square spectacles perched on his nose. So  _this_  was what a sports therapist looked like? Tall and slim, with quick hands and a narrow waist Rhett was willing to bet he could snap over his knee like a twig. He hadn’t exactly known what to expect, but really, the guy looked as though he weighed 140 pounds soaking wet; shouldn’t he have been some meatheaded jock with the kind of muscles only steroids could sculpt? Not some skinny, doe-eyed  _twink_  who made Rhett’s blood run warm at the very sight of him.

“It’s fine.” Rhett shrugged stiffly in reply, instantly regretting the decision as a twinge of pain lanced through his back. Mr Neal’s eyes didn’t miss the flinch, and Rhett immediately felt his face heat as the man stepped closer.

“Charles Neal, but you can call me Link.” Link held out a hand in welcome, his grip surprisingly strong. Rhett had little time to match it before Link was slipping past him to grab a pair of yoga mats from the pile, dragging them to the center of the room. Early afternoon sunlight fell in golden beams from the high rectangular windows, bathing both Link and the studio in a warm, honeyed glow. Gym equipment lined the walls, mats and weights and kickboxing pads; Rhett’s back ached just  _looking_  at the multiple sets of dumbbells on display, and he only hoped that whatever Link had in store for him, it didn’t include embarrassing himself by attempting to lift any of them.

Toeing the yoga mats into place, Link flashed another bright smile and clapped his hands together briskly. “So, lets get right to it, shall we. Have you ever had any kind of sports therapy before, Mr McLaughlin?”

“Rhett, please. And no, first timer.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Rhett hesitated only briefly before stepping onto the spongey mat beside his instructor. “Not unless you count copying a couple of wikiHow exercises?”

Link huffed a good-natured laugh, turning his eyes toward the ceiling. “That website dang near put me out of a job, I swear. Who needs years of extensive training when we have the world wide web at our fingertips?”

The easy joke helped to bleed some of the tightly-wound tension from Rhett’s shoulders, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. He shifted from foot to foot, unable to stop himself from scanning Link’s small frame a second time. The man’s fitted black tee stretched over broad shoulders and hugged the sharp taper of his waist, and this close, Rhett could see the wiry strength visible in his arms, the skin there sun-kissed and dusted with dark hair. Maybe he wasn’t quite as much of a pushover as Rhett had first anticipated.

“You mentioned in our phone consultation that you’ve had problems with your back since you were a kid?” Link’s eyes – a bright, electric blue behind the dark frames of his glasses – swept Rhett’s tall frame from head to foot. “No doubt thanks to your height; I can tell from your posture that you’ve made a habit of stooping.”

Rhett’s smile vanished at that, his shoulders squaring indignantly. “I don’t  _stoop_.”

Link cocked his head, his smile melting into something so sly and playful that it immediately dismissed Rhett’s momentary flare of hostility. “Oh really? Give me ‘til the end of our session, and if you’re still convinced you didn’t come in here hunched over like Quasimodo, I’ll give you half your deposit back.”

Rhett snorted at the cocksure words, never one to turn down such an open challenge. “You’re on, man.”

“Don’t make me regret that.” Link dragged a hand through his hair, long fingers carding salt and pepper strands. Rhett was sure he heard angels singing.

“So, the pain is mostly centered around your lower spine, right, L1 through 5?” Link continued. “That’s not surprising. I expect you need to bend more than the average man just going about your day-to-day life.”

Rhett didn’t argue with that. He’d long since grown used to the occupational hazard of being 6 foot seven, his body bending like a reed to whatever obstacles came his way. Crouching to hug Stevie or retrieve a fallen object, his shoulders rounding and spine locking tight. Hell, even tying his own shoelaces left him stiff and wincing these days.

He neglected to tell Link that part of the reason he hunched was to keep the stares of the general public to a bare minimum. He’d learned to live with the continuous stream of comments by now – “ _gosh, you’re tall_ ,” and “ _is it snowing up there_?” being two of his favourites – but the momentary flashes of intimidation and hostility in the upturned faces of many of the people he approached was enough to keep his shoulders rolling consistently inward toward his chest. Not all attention was  _good_  attention.

Link’s next set of questions were rudimentary enough – did he take regular medications, had he ever had back surgery, did the pain affect his shoulders or chest – and all too soon he was shifting his stance further apart and looking at Rhett expectantly.

“Okay, Rhett, follow my lead. If you don’t feel as though you can match the stretch, don’t force yourself.” His hands moved animatedly as he spoke. “I’m going to start off simple, get some insight into the range of your movement. There’s no right or wrong here; do as much or as little as you can.”

With that, Link raised his arms in a slow arc over his head, both palms turned upward toward the ceiling. Rhett forced himself not to focus on the smooth shift of hard muscle in Link’s shoulders and mirrored the move slowly, sucking a deep breath through his nose. The position forced him to arch his back and lift his butt, discomfort already nagging at the base of his spine. Rhett’s cheeks coloured beneath the scruff of his beard; damn it, this was the  _first stretch_. He couldn’t be struggling already.

If Link noticed then he didn’t comment, only waited a short beat before sliding seamlessly into the next stretch. This one pushed Rhett’s arms forward as far as they could go, fingers interlocking and chin dipping toward his chest. The third prompted him to bend at the waist far enough to brush his fingertips against the mat; Link made it look completely effortless, of course, his spine a perfect arch and his calves locked tight. Rhett could barely stop himself from licking his lips as he drank in the sight of Link’s rounded backside pushed high into the air, a little dizzy as he stretched his arms down toward his toes.

Almost immediately, hot bolts of pain lashed the length his spine, hot and sharp and snatching the breath from his lungs. Rhett only just bit back his string of surprised curses, his entire body seizing up with a jolt.  _Idiot_  – he’d pushed himself too far too soon, exactly what Link had warned him  _not_  to do. Grimacing, he struggled to push himself upright, his brow furrowed tight and one hand lifting to press at the knot rapidly forming in his lower back.

“Easy – come up slowly.”

He hadn’t even noticed Link move; one moment the shorter man was in front of him, the next directly beside him, the soothing, honeyed tone of his voice dripping like hot wax over Rhett’s skin. Rhett could only see Link’s sneakers from his bent position, but he could damn well feel the warm slide of Link’s wide palm skate over his lower back. He swallowed thickly, blood rushing to his upside-down head.

“I’m fine, just…” he flapped a dismissive hand, searching for the right words amongst the static buzzing in his head. “Just went too far.”

“Roll your back up, okay, take it slow. Here… like this.” Link’s palm pressed to the base of his spine, the other coming around to lay flat against the hollow of Rhett’s ribs. He pushed with both hands in opposing directions, firm yet gentle, and Rhett allowed the movement to guide him to a standing position in a slow, sinuous curl he had never thought his body capable of producing. The pain ebbed away as his posture corrected itself, the hard thump of his heart slowly returning to a regular – albeit slightly quickened – pace.

“Are you okay?” Link asked quietly, breath hot and damp against Rhett’s neck. “Do you need to stop?”

Rhett shook his head, an involuntary wave of self-consciousness forcing him to shrug Link’s hand from his back in a move far more aggressive than he intended. “Guess you got the  _insight_  you needed, huh?”

Seemingly unaffected by the display, Link’s voice remained level and calm. “This isn’t a competition, Rhett. I’m here to help you. I’m your therapist, remember? Not your drill sergeant.”

Rhett grit his teeth, embarrassment a sharp bite in his gut. Link was right – he’d come here for help, and lashing out at every fallen hurdle would get him nowhere in the long run.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled, eyes on the mat. Link shook the apology away with a small smile, patting Rhett genially on the arm.

“Nothing to be sorry about, man. I get it.” He paused, peering at Rhett closely for a moment. “You’re not from California, are you? Your accent; it’s subtle, but…” A grin stretched his lips, giving Rhett a glimpse of sharp canines. “You’re a southern boy too, ain’t’cha.”

Rhett had to huff a laugh at that. “Georgia, yeah. Think you’re the first person here who’s called my accent  _subtle_ , though. Most people in LA still look at me like I ought to be wearing a cowboy hat and chewing on straw.”

“Don’t I know it.” Link rolled his eyes in amusement. “You lived out here long?”

“About…” Rhett performed a quick mental count, lips pressed in concentration. “Gosh, seven years now.”

“No kidding, me too! Moved out here from Fuquay-Varina exactly seven years ago.”

“ _No kidding_ ; we almost moved out that way when I was a kid.”

“Jeez, what’re the chances?” Link’s excited smile softened. “Shame you didn’t. Maybe we would’ve been buddies?”

Their eyes met, Link’s words settling warm and bright in the hollow space beneath Rhett’s ribs. Maybe there was an alternate universe out there wherein Rhett’s dad  _had_  taken the plunge and moved the family to North Carolina, and he and Link had met as kids. He couldn’t tell Link’s age with a look, but the silver in his hair and the laughter lines around his eyes suggested they couldn’t be that far apart – maybe they’d have been in the same schoolyear, the same classes, grown up together and shared dorms in college. Something fluttered in Rhett’s stomach at the unbidden image of their two younger selves standing close, their fingers entwined, Link’s impish smile taking on a whole new meaning as he pressed up onto his toes to whisper something filthy into Rhett’s ear. Younger Rhett blushed, and the current version felt his own cheeks heat in sympathy.

 _Stop that_. Mentally kicking himself, Rhett used the pretence of taking a deep breath and rolling his shoulders to quietly shift the subject back to the task at hand.  _Even if you had met back then, there was no way something like_ that _would’ve ever happened._

He’d learned slowly to come terms with the issue of his latent sexuality, his draw toward both men and women a secret he had kept locked away throughout his early adulthood. Growing up in a strictly Christian community, marched to church every Sunday until he was old enough to choose not to go, the cruel gossip and jokes of his hometown; it had taken some deep soul searching before Rhett had been ready to admit his true feelings even to himself. The move to LA had helped, homosexuality accepted and  _welcomed_  here, yet still he found himself gravitating instinctually toward women on the rare nights he attempted to hook up.

Rhett’s eyes glanced down to Link’s left hand. There was no wedding band there, nor was the skin of his ring finger baring the pale strip of the recently divorced. Still, that didn’t mean anything, and there was no way Rhett was going to ask outright. Besides, Link was his therapist; there was probably a list of rules a mile long when it came to getting ‘involved’ with clients.

“Are you ready to try some more stretches?” Link continued, jerking his head toward the mats at their feet. “There’s a few reclining positions I think would suit you better.”

Ignoring the way his blood stirred at the thought of any kind of reclining position including Link, Rhett nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

With a quiet noise of contentment Link sank to the mat, fingers spread wide to keep himself from toppling over as his legs gave an unsteady wobble. Rhett couldn’t help but snort at his apparent clumsiness, the earlier grace of Link’s stretches lost in the face of a simple squat. Link flashed him a playfully dangerous look as if daring him to comment. Rhett only waggled his eyebrows mischievously and lowered himself carefully to his knees.

“Okay, so – this time I want you to start on your back.” Link made no move to follow the instruction, and Rhett’s stomach gave a lurch with the realisation that he was on his own this time. Clearing his throat, he willed away yet another blush and swung his long legs out in front of him with all the grace of a new-born baby giraffe. Lying down had never been easy, but at least when getting into bed he had the leverage of a seated position. He kept his eyes firmly closed as he eased himself back, first resting his weight on his elbows before sagging bonelessly to the hard ground. Even with the mat beneath him the position was decidedly uncomfortable, and Rhett shuffled restlessly for a few moments, hands folding self-consciously on his stomach.

“I’m going to show you some positions to align your pelvis and stretch the muscles of your lower back.” With his eyes still closed, Link’s voice sounded low and melodic in his ears. Was it his imagination playing a cruel trick, or had it really dropped an octave or two, smooth and rich like aged whiskey. “May I touch you?”

Rhett’s eyes flew open at that, blinking rapidly as they locked with Link’s own. “I, um…”

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. I’ll keep you safe.” Link’s hands hovered over Rhett’s knee, waiting patiently for permission. Rhett swallowed, his tongue drier than sandpaper, before giving a jerky nod. Link smiled softly and lowered one palm to cup the back of Rhett’s left thigh. Electricity crackled across Rhett’s skin at the simple touch even through layers of fabric, his breath catching somewhere high in his throat. Link lifted Rhett’s leg carefully towards his chest, keeping the knee bent at a 90-degree angle.

“Here; wrap your hands around your knee—" Link’s free hand closed around one of Rhett’s own, his palm warm and rough. “And hold it there for a count of twenty seconds. Keep breathing through the stretch, lower your knee if you need to.”

He let go of Rhett’s thigh, and Rhett felt its loss as though Link had taken a piece of Rhett’s soul with him in the process. His heart hammered against his ribs, his eyes falling closed once more as he began the slow mental count.

“That’s good, Rhett. Keep it going,” and Christ, Link was  _whispering_  to him now, soft words of encouragement washing Rhett’s skin with feverish goosebumps. The ache in his lower back slowly lessened as his hips dropped into place, the tension in his spine bleeding away with each breath, each gentle word of praise.

All too soon he reached 20, opening his eyes to find Link smiling down at him, a lock of dark hair hanging in his eyes. A hand to his knee prompted him to lower his foot to the mat, and Rhett shuddered as Link’s fingers curled around his right thigh in turn.

He repeated the stretch with the other leg, easier this time, each breath coming slow and smooth. How easy it would have been to stay stretched out on that mat forever, Link’s warm fingertips burning five points of fire through the soft material of his sweatpants. He didn’t feel judged nor scrutinised here, not with Link’s gentle affirmations curling through his head like smoke.

The next set of stretches had him twist at the hip, one bent knee draped sideways over the opposite leg. This position would stretch the paraspinal muscles, Link explained, fingertips brushing Rhett’s lower back as if pointing out the very muscles he spoke of. Rhett closed his eyes again, and allowed Link’s hands to guide him where they wanted.

By the time their session came to an end, Rhett had to admit that his back felt noticeably better. The stretches were far from a miracle cure, but they had helped to loosen the knots wrapped so tightly around his spine. Link stood with a stretch of his own, reaching out a hand to help the taller man to his feet. Rhett took it graciously, his earlier trepidation having fallen to the wayside. Using the added leverage, he pulled himself up.

Perhaps Link’s upward tug had been a little over zealous, or perhaps Rhett’s balance was unstable after long minutes laid flat on his back. Whatever the excuse, the result saw him stumble forward just enough to crush his chest against Link’s own. Their hands remained clasped between them, and this close, Rhett could feel Link’s heartbeat just as surely as he knew Link could feel his. There was no doubt about it; Link’s heart fluttered like a bird trapped in a cage, his eyes wide and dark and slightly crossed as they locked with Rhett’s own. Rhett couldn’t stop himself from glancing toward Link’s cupid-bow lips, the urge to tip his head and close the scant distance between them almost overwhelming. This didn’t feel like a sin, like fire and brimstone nipping at his heels. The curves of Link’s body fit seamlessly with Rhett’s own, the thin shape of his waist made to fit between Rhett’s hands. This felt natural, felt  _right_ , felt like the lost half of him had finally found its home between the dip and swell of his ribs.

“You did well, buddy. I’m impressed.” Link grinned, slow and wolfish, and Rhett’s knees almost gave way at the husk of his voice. “And look – you’re not stooping anymore.”

Damn it, he was right. Rhett huffed a surprised laugh, reluctantly stepping back and releasing Link’s hand. “Guess I won’t be leaving with half of my deposit after all.”

At least Link had the grace to fake a sympathetic pout. “I’d say better luck next time, but this ain’t a competition I want you to win.”

Rolling his neck from side to side, Rhett made a few experimental rotations of his arms and hips. The ache had certainly dulled to a manageable level, enough to leave him more relaxed than he’d felt in months. Link watched him from lowered lashes, and if Rhett hadn’t known any better, he was certain he caught a momentary flare of insecurity in the way Link pulled his lower lip between his teeth.

“I feel… I feel good, man. Like I could climb mountains.” He raised his arms toward the ceiling, his overactive mind already racing with the possibilities that came hand-in-hand with a pain-free back. “Like I could fight a bear, or catch wild horses. Or at least walk to Starbucks.”

Link laughed, high and bright. “Well, that’s a start.”

“Thank you, Link. Seriously.” Rhett lowered his arms gingerly, dropping his eyes to the mat. “I wasn’t totally sure this would work, in all honesty. I wouldn’t be here right now if my friend hadn’t threatened to kill me if I didn’t get myself some help.”

Link grinned, head tipped bashfully toward one shoulder. “Does this mean you want to book a second session with me? We recommend at least three.”

Forcing himself not to nod too enthusiastically, Rhett shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”

“Great.” One of Link’s hands dug into the pocket of his sweatpants, fishing out a sleek black phone. He tapped in his passcode and thumbed through the apps. “Let me just pull up my schedule, and we can fit you in for your first massage.”

Rhett’s entire body froze immediately, pain crashing through his stiffened spine.

“… _Massage?_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit - I'm absolutely stunned and humbled by the lovely reception this fic has received so far. Thank you all so much for your kudos and kind comments, it really does mean the world to me. I hope you enjoy this update!
> 
> Come chat to me over on [Tumblr](https://matrimus.tumblr.com/)!

Massages, it turned out, played an important role in many sports therapy programs. The two went hand in hand like biscuits and gravy, Link had quipped with a nervous smile, clearly spooked by Rhett’s near violent reaction to mere mention of the hands-on healing treatment. Rhett had made a hopeless grab for the tattered scraps of his composure, one handing resting on a cocked hip even as his shoulders had locked in tight beneath his chin. Any questions he had were answered calmly, deflecting the worst of his worries. Yes, Link was sure a massage would help. Yes, it might hurt a little. Yes, Link would be performing Rhett’s massage himself. Rhett had felt his throat shift on a deep gulp; Link’s eyes had followed it.

They’d scheduled the massage for exactly one week later, giving Rhett plenty of time to practise the stretches Link had shown him, as well as mentally prepare himself for having the man’s hands on his body. It’d been a long time since someone had touched his bare skin, and though he knew there would be nothing sexual about a professional performing a service, that didn’t stop Rhett’s imagination from running wild. He’d let the images play out in his mind as he’d stood beneath the hot spray of his morning shower, one hand running slowly down his stomach to the delicious thought of Link’s own palm mapping the same path. He’d imagined those strong fingers kneading the flesh of his lower back, untying the knots he found there, before slipping lower, over the swell of Rhett’s ass. He’d shivered at the thought of that velvet voice whispering words of encouragement in his ear, the phantom sensation of Link’s bare chest against his back parting Rhett’s lips on a wet gasp. It hadn’t taken long for him to bring himself to a shuddering climax, the thought of Link’s stubble scratching against his skin as he pressed open-mouthed kisses down Rhett’s spine enough to shove him roughly over the edge. He’d blushed about it afterward, whispering a silent prayer to whatever God might be listening that his treacherous brain didn’t replay the whole thing in vivid technicolour the moment Link’s hands touched him.

His week passed with little fanfare, slow and monotonous and punctuated with wistful glances toward the nearest available clock. There was a saying in there somewhere, something about time passing slowly when aware of its presence, though Rhett could only curse Albert Einstein and his theory of relativity so much. He floated through work as though caught in a fugue state, struggling to focus on the most simple of everyday tasks, and whiled away the hours at home with forced DIY projects he’d put off since his move there seven years prior. Barbara had watched from her regal perch on the couch, regarding him as suspiciously as a dog possibly could.

Did Link like dogs, Rhett wondered? Would he smile at the sight of Barbara greeting them at the door, maybe scoop her up into his arms to plant a kiss on her button nose? It had taken Rhett a long time to allow himself to get another dog – the _McLaughlin Family Dog Curse_ still a nagging worry at the back of his mind – but he could no longer imagine his life without that little mop of white fur by his feet.

The day of his massage dawned with a downpour of lukewarm rain, something he’d been told never happened in Southern California. Rhett’s gut churned with both trepidation and excitement as he walked to his usual coffee-haunt, puddles splashing beneath his boots like shattered mirrors. Stevie greeted him with a wave, having already procured their favourite table in what was probably a fight to the death; the coffeeshop was always packed, small and cosy as it was. Rhett slumped heavily into the chair opposite his friend, gratefully accepting the mug of tea Stevie had ordered ahead for him. He inhaled the softly floral scent, long fingers wrapped around warm porcelain. Stevie cocked her head, one delicate eyebrow arching toward her hairline.

“What’s eating you?” She asked, blunt words softened by the small smile curling one corner of her lips. Rhett shook his head, blowing steam from his tea to buy him a few precious seconds whilst he grasped for an answer she would buy, finally settling on a gruff, to-the-point: “Nothin’.”

“Ah,” Stevie deadpanned, nonchalantly stirring her coffee. “I see. Less a question of _what_ and more of a _who_ , am I right? So… who’s eating you?” She winked. “Or _should_ be eating you?”

Rhett rolled his eyes, ignoring the watercolour blush he knew was spreading up his neck and painting the tips of his ears. “Drop it, Stevie. Just a rough week, is all.”

“Well, I wouldn’t know, since you’ve hardly spoken to me.” Accusing eyes raked Rhett’s face as though searching for clues. Rhett sighed, reaching a hand across the table to pat Stevie’s far smaller one.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been… distracted.”

Stevie squeezed his fingers, forgiveness in the small gesture. “You want to talk to me about it? I’d like you to; you haven’t even told me how your sports therapy went yet. After all the running around I did to find the guy for you, I’d appreciate the update.”

Rhett’s blush darkened; Stevie pounced, a lion on a gazelle.

“Oh crap, what happened? Did you make an ass of yourself again?”

“No, I just – what do you mean _again_?” Rhett grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to hurt. “The therapy went well… really well, actually. I’ve been using the stretches Link showed me every morning, and I can already feel the difference.”

“Link? I thought the guy’s name was Charles?”

“It is, he just asked me to call him Link. Unusual, right? Middle name, maybe?”

Stevie’s eyes narrowed over the rim of her coffee mug, her small smile spreading into something far too _knowing_ for Rhett’s liking. “Link, huh? Interesting.”

Rhett mirrored the squint, his own far more hostile. “What is?”

“Oh, nothing.” She shrugged. “Just wondering if you blush that pretty when _Link_ is bending you into all those stretches of his.”

Rhett buried his crimson face in his hands, muffling his groan of frustration. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But correct, right? Link’s what’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Rhett nodded reluctantly, dropping his hands to the table in defeat. He still wasn’t used to so openly discussing his attraction to men, though Stevie was by far the most open-minded woman he’d ever met. She herself had a girlfriend, Cassie, and understood all too well the struggles of living beneath an oppressive social structure. She may have adopted the Californian accent, but she was a Southern girl at heart.

“He’s nice,” Rhett confirmed, sipping his tea demurely.

“Friendly nice, or _please-rip-my-clothes-off-and-take-me-right-here-on-this-gym-mat_ nice?”

“…Both?”

Stevie grinned, her nose scrunching adorably. “You gonna go for it?”

Rhett fell silent, turning his gaze toward the wet street. As much as he admired Link, going so far as to ask him out was still incredibly daunting. He had no idea if the man was single, or what his sexuality might have been, and Rhett would rather walk barefoot over hot coals than ask outright and be met with rejection.

“He’s my therapist, Stevie,” he replied at length, watching the raindrops run in thin rivulets down the windowpane. “There’s probably rules about that. No dating clients, etc.”

“He won’t be your therapist forever, though. How many sessions do you have together?”

“He recommended at least three, so… I guess we’ll see how they go and whether I need any more.” He hesitated, before adding in one breathless rush, “—he’s giving me a massage today.”

Stevie all but choked on her coffee. She reached across the table to punch Rhett’s shoulder affectionately. “Don’t get a boner.”

\--

The dance studio was darker that it had been during his first visit, dimmed by the thick cloud and drizzling rain obscuring its windows. Link was already there when Rhett arrived, sat propped against the mirrored wall with his long legs bent and drawn up toward his chest. He didn’t notice Rhett straight away, engrossed in something on the illuminated screen of his phone. Rhett’s soft cough caught his attention soon enough, his face splitting into a warm smile as he scrambled to his feet.

“Rhett – it’s good to see you again, man.” He held out a hand, and Rhett was ready this time, squeezing the man’s palm in a firm grip.

“You too. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting?”

Link shook his head, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “No, not at all. I got here early to set up.”

 _Set up_. Rhett’s mouth ran dry as he took in the sight of the single yoga mat laid out in the center of the room, a fluffy pillow presumably awaiting his head. He gulped, apprehension at war with the excitement in his blood. “That’s it? I was kind of expecting a table – y’know, the ones with a face hole?”

“Yeah, a face hole’s the usual set up, but considering certain _logistics_ –” Link gave him a pointed, up and down look. “I thought you’d be more comfortable with your legs fully supported. You’re not built for those tables, man; half of you would be left dangling over the edge.”

Rhett wasn’t going to complain too much; the claustrophobic idea of a face hole hadn’t been particularly appealing, though propping himself up on a pillow whilst Link hovered over his back was a little _too_ close to the x-rated dreams he’d been having recently. Link continued, his bright blue eyes roaming across Rhett’s shoulders. “Your posture’s looking better. How’s your back been this last week – fight any bears yet?”

“Not quite, but I reckon I could arm wrestle a few at least.” Rhett twisted at the waist, conscious of Link’s gaze following the deliberate movement. “I’ve been practising the stretches you showed me, a half hour every morning. What’s your secret, man? Some kind of voodoo?”

Link’s head tipped toward one shoulder, and the mischievous light to his smile was enough to pull the breath from Rhett’s lungs. “If I told you that, I might have to kill you.”

 _And honestly,_ Rhett thought to himself. _I’d probably let you_.

Drawing himself upright, Link rubbed his hands together and waved toward the mat. “Okay, so; if you want to go ahead and take your shirt off, we can get started here.”

Rhett held his breath, willing away the first of what he expected would be many embarrassed blushes. He’d been ready for this part at least; no back massage he’d ever heard of required the person to keep their shirt on, and he was only grateful Link hadn’t presented him with a towel and asked him to strip naked. Years of back problems coupled with his love of rich food had left him softer around the middle than he’d been in his younger days, and though he’d never had any complaints from past lovers, he couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious when faced with someone as physically fit as Link. He shrugged the shirt off over his head, somehow managing to make the move appear far more suave than he felt. The freckles of his shoulders stood like constellations against his pale skin, his shirt hanging awkwardly by his side. Link took it from him, folding the fabric neatly and setting it on a nearby chair.

“Lay down and get yourself comfortable,” Link’s voice was gentle, a soothing level of command Rhett eagerly latched on to. “It’s up to you whether you want your arms under the pillow or by your sides.”

Rhett lowered himself carefully to the mat, his spine groaning in protest. He flinched when his bare stomach touched the cold mat, slowly stretching to lay flat with his long legs pushed out behind him. It took a moment to find a comfortable position for his arms, eventually settling with them tucked beneath the pillow. The fabric rasped softly against his beard, and smelt of fresh linen; he couldn’t help but wonder if it was one of Link’s own, or if the medical company had provided him with it. Rhett knew which he’d prefer it to be.

Link knelt beside him, and Rhett didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes slid the path of Rhett’s exposed spine. Did all sports therapist’s look at their clients like that, like they wanted to eat them alive? Rhett shivered, and turned his face into the pillow.

“I’ll keep the pressure even, and concentrate on your lower back – specifically the quadratus lumborum where you carry a lot of tension. It might hurt a little, but I’ll do my best to keep it as painless as possible,” Link explained, the gentle cadence of his voice prickling at Rhett’s nerves. “If you need me to go harder, just ask.”

Rhett was glad his face was pressed into the depths of the pillow; his cock twitched, Link’s words conjuring yet more filthy scenarios to mind. Anticipation raised the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck, and he couldn’t help but visibly jolt when Link’s warm hands finally pressed to his skin.

“Some people prefer this to be done in total silence.” Link’s palms smoothed up Rhett’s back in one long sweep, flat and wide and leaving fire in their wake. “But others like to talk – break the ice a little, ‘yknow? Which would you prefer?”

Rhett fought to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Had this been a normal massage, one performed by a stranger in a spa perhaps, he had no doubt in his mind he’d have asked for radio silence. Making awkward small-talk had never been easy for him, and the idea of asking a stranger’s opinion on the weather as they rubbed their hands over his body was enough to leave him cold. But this was _Link_ ; Rhett was curious about him, and liked the man’s voice enough to want to keep hearing it.

“I’d rather you talk,” he answered into the pillow.

“That’s good. I’m not great at keeping quiet.” Link’s hands ran up and over Rhett’s shoulders, briefly squeezing his trapezius muscles, before sliding the long path to his waist. Rhett jerked, the sensation of fingertips dancing over his ribs coaxing a muffled yet high pitched giggle from his mortified lips. Link snorted, and Rhett could hear the smile in his tone.

“Ticklish?” He made the same movement again, shifting closer until his knees pressed against Rhett’s thigh.

“Quit it, man!” Rhett squirmed, shoulders tensing. “I’m not paying good money to be tortured.”

Link laughed, but acquiesced. His hands vanished for a moment, and Rhett heard the distinct pop of a plastic cap somewhere above him.

“Okay, Rhett, I’m going to apply some oil to your skin – just a simple blend to keep this comfortable for you.” A quick peek from the depths of the pillow caught the image of Link rubbing something wet and glistening into his palms, the soft scent of lavender and sweet almond soon permeating the room. It was warm when it touched Rhett’s skin, wet and viscous.

Link’s fingers avoided the more troublesome ticklish areas and concentrated on Rhett’s lower spine, his thumbs digging harder than Rhett had anticipated. He grunted in surprise, a delicious spike of pleasure-pain shooting through his bloodstream. Link paused, silently waiting for any further complaints, before continuing the massage with slow, rounded movements of his wrists. Rhett let his breath rush free in a long exhale of surrender, wishing he’d thought to compile a last will and testament before the session began. He only hoped Stevie would take good care of Barbara for him.

“So, what brought you to Los Angeles?” Link asked quietly, pressing firmly into the supple flesh of Rhett’s lower back with the heels of his palms. The oil made soft, slick noises between the smooth glide of their skin.

“The usual – fame, fortune,” Rhett replied through grit teeth. “Chasing those Hollywood dreams of becoming a big-shot civil engineer.”

“You’re an engineer? That’s too weird – _I_ studied industrial engineering before I switched to sports therapy.” Link’s fingers did something particularly wonderful, easing out a knot Rhett hadn’t even known was there. “We sure do seem to have a lot in common.”

“D’you like dogs?” Rhett blurted thickly, the bliss of having his bones melted loosening his tongue considerably. Link laughed at the abrupt question, low and breathless.

“Yeah, actually. I have a miniature Dachshund – Jade. Why d’you ask?”

Rhett saw stars when he felt the man above him bend to drag his forearm along his lower back, a long, hard line of pressure that rolled the length of his spine. His soft moan quickly choked into a cough, and Rhett subconsciously shuffled his hips against the mat. “I have a Maltese. Her name’s Barbara.”

“ _Barbara_?” Link repeated with a grin, his tone amused. “You named your dog _Barbara_? Is that after someone, or do you just have a thing for names that sound like someone’s grandma?”

Rhett turned his head to shoot the man above him a good-natured glare. “Don’t you hate on my dog, man. I’m not getting into a half-naked fight with you over this.”

Link cocked an eyebrow, the slow curl of his lips wickedly flirtatious. “Ain’t that a shame.”

Rhett’s face grew hot; he returned his nose to the pillow fast enough to give himself whiplash, his hands clenched to fists beneath the soft fabric.

“Anyway, she – _Barbara –_ needs socialising, and I don’t know many people here with dogs her size.” He swallowed, heart hammering so hard he was certain Link could feel it pulsing through his body. He sucked a breath, and continued. “If you ever walk Jade up in Two Strike park, it’d be great for them to meet.”

“La Crescenta, huh?” Link whistled, his arm making another firm pass from ribcage to waistband. “Fancy. I’ve always wanted to move out that way. Maybe Jade and I’ll take a lil’ trip this weekend.”

Rhett remained silent, his brain taking a moment to process this new information. Had Link just agreed to a doggy date? Not a _date_ date exactly, but a definite opportunity for them to meet outside of their therapy sessions. Excitement rushed through him like an electrical current, though Rhett did his best to disguise it with a barely susceptible shrug. “Great. You have my number; give me a call if you – oh, _gosh_.”

Rhett’s careful composure immediately flew to the wind as Link’s sharp elbow dug firmly into his back, rotating in small, tight circles. It _hurt_ , a deep burn that Rhett instinctively tried to wriggle away from, but the relief that came with it sent a delicious wave of endorphins crashing through his nervous system. He shuddered, not caring this time when he released a long, appreciative groan.

“Right there?” Link whispered, not waiting for Rhett to answer before pressing down harder. Rhett throbbed in his sweatpants, forcing himself not to roll his hips against the mat in a desperate bid for friction. Agreeing to a doggy date was one thing; openly humping Link’s yoga mat was an entirely different ballpark, one he was sure would get him arrested.

The conversation slowed as Rhett found himself losing the ability to speak beyond breathless sighs and the stuttered hitch of his breath. Link’s expert hands returned to his waist, swapping between slow, near hypnotic circular motions that bit deep into Rhett’s muscles, and long, sweeping strokes up the bridge of his spine. Rhett lost track of time altogether, the heat in his blood cooling to a low simmer by the time he felt Link’s phone buzz against his hip, a silent alarm signifying the end of the session. He bit back a hiss of disappointment, rolling his head on the pillow to look up at Link expectantly.

The man’s cheeks were flushed, his glasses pushed up onto the top of his head. He looked different without them, the intensity of his deep-set eyes somehow more pronounced. Rhett shivered as their gazes locked, brief but heavy, until Link gave his waist a final pat and sat back on his haunches. He dug his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and carefully tapped the flashing screen with slick fingers, silencing it. The dark hair on his arms was matted with oil, glistening in the dim light; Rhett swallowed thickly.

“How do you feel?” Returning his glasses to the bridge of his nose, Link watched Rhett stretch his arms out in front of him, a bone-deep contentment making him sluggish.

“Like I could sleep for a week.” He pushed up onto his knees, gingerly at first until he realised the ache in his lower back had all but vanished. “Jeez… how did you _do_ that?”

Link tossed him a grin, climbing to his feet and retrieving a pack of handwipes and a bottle of water. He handed the water to Rhett. “Strictly tricks of the trade. I’m sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid – like the Magician’s Circle.”

Rhett unscrewed the water bottle, only just realising how parched his lips had been. Link explained the science behind it as he drank deeply, something about nutrients and oxygen being delivered to the muscles at a faster rate burning through his blood’s water supply. Rhett nodded, fascinated even as he stifled a yawn behind the back of his hand. Link rolled his eyes playfully.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Wiping his hands with the towelettes, he reached around Rhett’s waist to clean the excess oil from his skin. Their eyes met again, Rhett’s pulse skipping.

“Same time next week?” He asked hoarsely. Link’s smile widened, a flash of sharp teeth. His hand lingered at the small of Rhett’s back, fingertips barely grazing the skin as he handed him his shirt.

“You’re already booked in. Say hi to Barbara for me.”


End file.
